


Somewhere in the Golden West

by Chash



Series: You Didn't Even Hesitate [2]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Frontier, F/M, Mail Order Brides
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-29
Updated: 2017-03-29
Packaged: 2018-10-12 18:15:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10496745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chash/pseuds/Chash
Summary: It's been a year since Clarke packed up her life and married a perfect stranger. As far as she's concerned, that's worth celebrating.





	

**Author's Note:**

> It's my two-year anniversary in t100 fandom, woo! I took votes on what timestamp I should write, and here we are. Thanks for reading, friends :D

Clarke honestly isn't sure Bellamy even remembers the date of their first marriage anymore, which she finds both sweet and a little bit funny. She thinks that, once he found out that she hadn't really been herself the first time, he stopped caring about it. If she asked, he'd probably be able to come up with the correct date, but she hasn't bothered asking, and whenever he mentions their wedding, he talks about the one in summer, not the one in spring.

Or maybe he doesn't care about dates at all. He asked her birthday a few weeks after they first met, and he remembered the month it was in, and the month before, he asked to be reminded of the day so he could plan something, and he did with no further help from her. Like most other parts of her life with Bellamy, her birthday was odd to think about, compared to her former life. Her mother used to throw huge, elaborate parties for her, would invite all the most important people in town. She'd hire caterers and entertainment, and Clarke got tables of presents.

Bellamy got his sister to help him bake a cake and sewed a quilt for her. It was the best birthday she's ever had; none of the others even begin to compare.

That's how all their celebrations are. She did a very passable job on his birthday, if she does say so herself, baking the cake herself and buying him a whole pile of books. Christmas was good too, a quiet family affair with Octavia and Lincoln and their new baby, and Clarke had helped with Christmas dinner and not even burned anything.

But their marriage feels different. If she's honest, their first marriage feels the most different, at least for her. She knows that the second is the one that matters to Bellamy, because that was her choosing _him_. Her marrying him because she loved him. And she understands why that means so much; it means a great deal to her too.

But it meant a great deal to her when she saw his advertisement in the paper. It had been so gruff and curt, no obvious attempt to make himself seem like anything he wasn't. He'd come off as a practical, serious man who needed a wife who could help him, but one who also felt a little ridiculous about the whole thing, and Clarke had wanted to be the person he was looking for so badly. She'd wanted to be of use, instead of withering away in high society. She wanted to get her hands dirty.

And the whole time, she'd been expecting Bellamy to say no. With every letter, every time she told him how little experience she had, how she'd never lived anywhere but the city, talked around her own history, she expected him to write back and say he didn't want her.

After three letters, though, he asked: _Is this something you'd really want, or are you just curious? If you're willing to come, just let me know when I should send the train ticket._

Clarke stared at the letter, scarcely able to believe it. And then she'd had to make a decision, because she'd been sure she could have made up with her parents. She could have apologized and told them it was a mistake, sworn she'd be the daughter they wanted, and they would have taken her back, found her a marriage and some suitable occupations to keep her busy. She could have gone on with the life she was meant to have.

But she didn't want that life; she didn't want to be Clarke Griffin at all. She told him to send the ticket, and he did, and he _married her_ , for all she didn't know anything. He taught her, and he bought her a horse, and he fell in love with her, never knowing who she was, or who her parents were, or how much money she could have had. He only wanted _her_.

Almost a year later, and it still fills her with joy every time she thinks of it.

She has a chest of keepsakes under their bed, and all of the letters he sent her are still in it. She felt silly at first, saving them, because she didn't know a thing about him. She could have arrived in Arksville and hated him. He could have been awful, hard or mean or drunk, and she wouldn't have wanted the painful reminder of how her hopes had been dashed. Everything could have gone so wrong for her, and she remembers that sometimes, too.

But she'd liked his letters anyway, and now she's glad she has them. The beginning of their courtship. Her first contact with her husband.

She even saved the paper with his ad in it, dated February 2. That's the first date she'd like to celebrate, she thinks. She posted her first letter the very next day, and his response was dated the tenth, and over the next two months, they corresponded, until she came and married him at the end of March. 

Most people, as she understands it, have one anniversary, and they mark it yearly. Clarke doesn't mind having a few more. She has plenty of things to celebrate.

Nine days of ten, Bellamy wakes up before Clarke does. Or, rather, he starts his day before she does. Clarke's never been the most restful sleeper, and she'll often wake and decide it's not time to leave the bed yet. Especially now that she shares with Bellamy, whose warm arms and broad chest are very difficult to leave. So she'll return to sleep fitfully until he wakes up, and then, once he's disentangled himself and gone to attend to his morning duties, she'll usually take another few minutes convincing herself she should wake up too. She'll be in the kitchen making coffee when he comes in with the morning eggs, and he'll kiss her good morning and start in on cooking.

Sleep is the first casualty of both stress and excitement for Clarke, though, so it's not hard for her to get herself out of bed before him on the morning of the second. She collects the eggs herself and gets them going in a pan with bacon, on top of making the coffee and warming up last night's cornbread. She still doesn't consider herself a good cook, and certainly not a better one than Bellamy, for all he says he has no special talent for it, but she likes feeling as if she's improving. And she is. Everyone agrees she is.

Bellamy slides in behind her just as she's finishing, wrapping his arms around her and nuzzling her jaw. He hasn't shaved yet, and the rough drag of his stubble makes her shiver.

"Good morning," she says.

"Good morning. You're up early. Is something wrong?" His hand strays to her stomach, palm warm against the skin. "Did your monthlies come?"

She leans back into him, closing her eyes. Growing up, her mother and other concerned women made it sound as if a single wrong look from a man could get her pregnant, as if it would happen whether she wanted it to or not. A constant danger, something she had to be on guard against at every turn.

It's strange now, that they've been trying to get her pregnant since October, and so far, it hasn't taken. She's not worried, not exactly, because she knows it can take time. And for all she _wants_ a child, she'll still feel a giddy sense of triumph, every time she _isn't_ pregnant. She's married, married _twice_ even, and she and her husband are trying to have a baby. It's exactly what she's supposed to be doing, but she thinks she isn't supposed to be enjoying his attempts to impregnate her so much. Children are meant to be the goal, and while Clarke thinks a child would be nice, she finds bedding him to be its own reward.

But Bellamy _does_ want children, so it is a disappointment, too. Just not as much as it could be.

"They shouldn't come for another week, if they're coming," she says. "It's not that."

He kisses her neck. "Then what is it?"

"Do you know what today is?"

He seems to be thinking it over. "Thursday?"

"And?"

"And what? It's, uh, the second? Fuck, I don't know. Is something happening?"

"It's been one year," she tells him. "Since I saw your ad in the paper."

His laugh is surprised. "Is it? I didn't know which one you saw."

"How many were there?"

"I paid to run it for a week, in a few different papers. It seemed as if I should do it right, if I was doing it. So Octavia couldn't say I wasn't trying."

"Did you get any other responses?" she asks, curious.

"Some."

She dishes up breakfast and gives him a quick kiss on the mouth as she passes his plate. "Sit down. How did you pick me?"

He seats himself at the table with a smile. "What do you mean?"

"I assume you didn't send all of us train tickets. Was I the only one who really wanted to come?"

"Oh." He smiles. "No. Honestly, I didn't know how to pick. I had three women who responded to my letters after I responded to them, instead of just disappearing. I was writing to all three of you and feeling guilty about it. I thought I should just--make up my mind. So I decided one week that I'd just reply to the first letter that came and ask her if she was serious about it."

Clarke smiles. "And my letter came first."

He ducks his head. "Uh, no, actually. A woman named Echo wrote back first, and I realized I didn't actually want to marry her. It was probably kind of stupid, honestly. But the other two, I don't know. They just told me everything, so I didn't trust them. And I realized you were the only one I actually thought was telling me the truth."

It startles a laugh out of her. "You didn't trust the others because they told you too much?"

He shifts a little, embarrassed, but smiling too. "Not--you told me things. But it felt like the others were trying to win me over or something. Convince me how good they'd be. And, fuck, it's not like I was offering anything good. Just--a ranch that doesn't make much profit in the middle of nowhere. Why would anyone be working so hard to get that? At least you wanted to get away from something. I believed that. I figured it was poverty, but--"

She laughs. "No, not poverty. The other one."

"As it turns out." He takes a sip of his coffee. "I really hadn't thought I had a preference, but--it turned out it was you. So I waited for your next letter, and then I asked if you'd come down. And I told myself if you said no, I'd ask Echo, but I'm not sure I would have. I wasn't that desperate."

"Wow." She shakes her head. "I didn't know--I thought I must be the only one who responded. I thought you wouldn't have picked me if you had other choices."

"No. I had a good feeling about you." He reaches across the table and takes her hand, squeezing. "So, this is--celebrating?"

"It's worth celebrating, don't you think?"

"I feel bad, I didn't even know there was something to celebrate." He clears his throat. "I do still have your letters."

"I have yours too."

"I thought--I don't know. I thought we'd celebrate the marriage."

"The second one."

"Sorry, is that a problem?"

He sounds curious, not upset, and Clarke smiles. "I don't mind having a lot of things to celebrate. Besides," she can't help adding, "all I did was make breakfast by myself. It isn't much of a celebration."

"I don't need much of a celebration. This is nice."

"Good. I'm going to do it a few more times."

He raises his eyebrows. "You are?"

She shrugs, trying to look casual. "I have all your letters, like I said."

"And we need to celebrate all of them?"

"I want to," she corrects. "It's pretty amazing, don't you think?"

That makes him smile, bright and surprised. She doesn't understand how she's supposed to _not_ celebrate this, every day, every _minute_. She didn't ever think she could be as happy as she is. Even when she saw the ad, she thought she would just get somewhere to _go_. She hadn't really believed she'd stay, just that she'd get out of Boston, out of a world she didn't want to live in, and find a new one.

And now she has this.

"Whatever you want," Bellamy says. "What should I be doing?"

"Whatever you want."

"And if I don't want to do anything special?"

"That's fine." She nudges his foot with hers under the table. "I know you love me, Bellamy. You show me every day. You don't need to do anything except what you already do."

"Neither do you."

"I want to, like I said. If you want to, you should, but--I won't think it means anything, if you don't."

"All right." He gives her a warm smile. "Thank you for breakfast."

She returns it. "You're welcome."

*

Her monthlies come right on schedule, and she wouldn't mind, except that the first day the pain is worse than usual, like her organs are turning themselves inside out. Bellamy kisses her on the forehead and tells her not to worry about working if she doesn't want to, brings her breakfast and willow tea, sits with her while she eats and rubs her shoulders.

"I'm sorry," she can't help saying.

"For what?"

"Not only am I going to be useless for half the day, but we're not having a child yet."

"I don't see why you'd need to apologize for that," he says. His voice is a little gruff. "Neither of us has done anything wrong, Clarke." His mouth tugs up. "It's been awful, of course, trying to get you pregnant, and I can't wait until I can stop, but--" She laughs and elbows him, and he kisses her hair. "If it never works, I won't mind. We can keep trying, and if they don't come naturally, there are orphanages full of children who wouldn't mind living out here. If I can write a letter and get a wife, I assume I can do the same for children."

She feels the prickle of tears in her eyes, and she buries her face against his shoulder. She's always more emotional when her monthlies come, and it usually doesn't bother her, but--well, she _has_ been worried.

"I felt as if I should be minding more. That I wasn't--"

"Mind as much or as little as you'd like. If you want to stop trying, we can--"

"No," she says, quick. "As you said, it's awful and unpleasant, but--"

He laughs. "I didn't mean we'd stop _everything_ ," he teases. "But I could start pulling out again. Look into other methods of prevention. If it's bringing you grief."

"I won't mind if it works either." She sags against him, drawing the warmth out of his body. He presses his lips to her hair, and she _does_ feel better, for all her insides are still in knots. "As long as you aren't upset."

"Never."

"Good." She forces herself to straighten, pull away from him. "You should go. You have things to do, especially if I'm going to be useless for the best part of the morning."

"Just be useless all day," he says. "I don't mind. I'll feed the animals and make sure everything is in order, and then I'll come be useless with you. There's nothing pressing for us to do today."

"You don't have to do that."

"Because spending the day in bed with my wife sounds so awful," he teases. "The pillow should be heated by now, I'll bring it in for you and be back as soon as I'm done."

Clarke has to smile, watching him go. She'd been embarrassed, the first time her monthlies came after she married him, for all he never knew about it, and mortified the second, when the cramps had hit badly and she hadn't wanted to get out of bed. She had still been worrying she wasn't of enough use to him, and being struck down with female problems of which men seemed to prefer to remain ignorant was the last thing she wanted.

When she'd told him she felt ill, he had paused, looked her over, and said, "I've got willow tea and, uh--" He cleared his throat, ears turning red. "I made my sister a pillow she liked, for--when this happened. It's just cloth filled with corn, but when it's warmed up, it helps with the cramps. Unless I miss my mark in what--you can forget I said anything."

She already liked him, of course. She'd liked him from the start, but there are certain events that stand out as times she started to fall in love with him. When he gave her the horse, for example, and when he taught her to sew. The first time she caught him half undressed, if she's honest. And that day, when he brought her tea and the warm pillow and told her about the first time Octavia had her monthlies and thought she was dying, and he had ridden for the doctor in the middle of the night in a panic. She'd loved him then, she thinks. She couldn't help it.

It's only after he's finished with his work and come back to read in bed with her that Clarke remembers something else.

"Tomorrow is the tenth."

"Hm?" he asks.

"I was going to do something nice for you."

"Why?"

"That's the date on your first letter to me."

"Oh." He nuzzles her hair. "Well, this is something nice for me."

"What?"

"An afternoon off work, lying in bed with my wife and reading, and not even feeling guilty about it. It's hard to think of anything better you could give me."

Clarke laughs, curling around him. She feels mostly better, but--well, even in winter, they're always busy. It is nice to just take a day, unexpected and unplanned, to do absolutely nothing. And Bellamy wouldn't be able to give himself the break without an excuse, just because she told him to, so--it is nice. 

"I can make dinner tomorrow," she offers.

"You act like that's a rare occurrence. You make dinner most nights."

"A _nice_ dinner."

"Oh, well." He squeezes her shoulders. "If it's going to be _nice_. Go ahead. As long as you're feeling better."

"I'm already feeling better."

"Don't tell me that. I don't want to go back to work."

"I feel awful. I wouldn't survive if you left me."

His laugh is warm, and Clarke closes her eyes and snuggles closer to him. She feels perfect, if she's honest. "Can't have that," he murmurs. "I'd better stay."

*

"Do you have trouble finding gifts for your brother, or is it just me?"

Octavia cocks her head in confusion. Clarke sometimes forgets that Bellamy's sister is actually younger than she is, just barely nineteen, for all she's been married longer than Clarke has and is a mother on top of that. It's easy to think she has all the answers Clarke needs, but right now her son his chewing on her dress and she's just letting him, because she's too tired to fight it, so perhaps no one really has everything under control.

"Why do you need a present for Bell?"

"No reason," says Clarke, not meeting her eye. She's not sure why she's avoiding the question, exactly. But it's the truth too. There's no great reason except that she loves him, and it's easy, at this time of year, to think about how incredible that is. And she knows Bellamy doesn't need anything from her, nothing more than what she already gives him. Nothing but herself. And it feels oddly selfish to want to do more for him, on top of that.

But she still does.

"I just wanted to get him something," she continues, when Octavia looks dubious. "I like getting him things."

Octavia taps her jaw. "I guess your anniversary is coming up, isn't it. Since Lincoln and I just had ours."

"One of them. He prefers the second, I think. So I can do something nice for him now, and he can do something nice for me in July. But--I don't know what to get him."

"He likes books."

"I get him books anyway. I don't need reason to do that." She huffs. "That's the whole problem. I do things for him all the time, so none of the thinks I'm doing are anything _special_. It's just--how we are."

"That's sweet. But--you're both a little ridiculous."

"I know." 

She holds open the post office door for Octavia, and the postmistress brightens at the sight of them. Harper came to town only a few months ago, and has been suffering a little for being a single woman in a town where they're rare. Clarke tries to stop by to check in every few days, whether she has correspondence to send.

"You've got letters today, Mrs. Blake."

Clarke smiles. No one calls her _Mrs. Blake_ , and it still sometimes doesn't feel like her. She's just Clarke. That's the person she's most comfortable being. "As always, Clarke is fine, Miss McIntire. What do I have?"

Harper hands over a bundle of letters, and Clarke flips through them quickly, checking the return addresses. Once her father knew where she was, there was no point in avoiding her old life. She knows it makes Bellamy nervous, that her parents know where she is and could attempt to reclaim her at any time, but the fact that they haven't seems to make him feel a little better. And he does realize how much she likes being able to talk to her father and to some of her old friends. She didn't want to leave _everything_ behind. Or, she did, but she didn't want to lose them forever. She just didn't want to live with them.

Today, she has letters from Wells, her father, her friend Fox, and--

"Oh," she says.

"What?" asks Octavia.

She holds up the envelope. "A letter from my mother."

"Is that bad?"

"It might be. She never writes."

"She doesn't like Bell, right?"

"She doesn't know anything about him," Clarke grumbles. "She _thinks_ she doesn't like him because she thinks it's his fault I left home. Which doesn't even make sense, if you think about it. I was the one who found him, and it's because _I_ was looking. He didn't make me want to leave home. And if I didn't like him, it's not as if I would have gone home. I would have just gone somewhere else."

"But it's easier for her to blame Bell."

"Probably. We don't talk about it very much." She opens up the letter, scanning it quickly while Octavia chats with Harper and lets her hold the baby. 

It's short and to the point, and Clarke falls backward against the wall of the post office, all the breath falling out of her all at once. She should have seen it coming, but--it's been almost nine months. Surely she would have said something _sooner_. Abby has written before, to wish her a happy birthday or a merry Christmas. It didn't seem so suspicious.

"What?" asks Octavia, frowning at her.

Clarke lets out a somewhat unsteady breath. "My mother is coming to visit."

There's a pregnant pause, and then Octavia says, "Yes, you're right. You should get my brother something really nice. I'll see what I can come up with."

"Thanks," says Clarke. Her voice sounds hollow. "I should--" She jerks her head.

"You should," she agrees. "Good luck."

*

Clarke's mother has given them two days' warning before she arrives, which is actually surprisingly considerate of her. The postmark on her letter even indicates she was trying to give them longer, but the message was delayed in transit. 

It's still too soon for Bellamy's liking.

"The house is spotless," Clarke tells him.

"It could be cleaner."

"She's going to be very impressed with how clean it is. We have plenty of food, the house is perfect, all the animals are in good health. There is no more you can possibly do to make my mother like you."

He scowls. "That's not comforting."

Clarke tugs him down for a kiss. "Bellamy. If my mother isn't going to like you, she isn't going to like you. It will have nothing to do with the ranch, or the town, or even with _you_."

"None of this is helping."

"What do you think is going to happen? She's not going to take me away. You're my husband, and she knows that. If she doesn't like you, it doesn't matter, because _I'll_ still love you. She'll be gone in no time."

"Where I come from, it's polite to ask before you come to visit," he grumbles, which Clarke takes as a good sign. His focus is shifting. "Instead of sending a letter that they can't possibly reply to before you arrive."

"If she wants to come, she'll come. Putting it off won't help." She tangles her hand in his hair, and he leans his forehead on her shoulder. "It's not a big deal. I've already chosen you over them. I always choose you over them."

"I wish you didn't have to choose," he admits.

"Well, I'm not, really. They could come see us any time. And they are. That's what it means, that I haven't chosen."

"When you put it like that, I wish you had to choose me more." He sighs. "You're going to tell me I can't go look over the guest room again, aren't you?"

"It's perfect, Bellamy. You really can't do anything else."

"So if she hates me, it's all on her, right? I'm not doing anything wrong."

"You put an ad out asking for a wife and married a woman who responded to it," Clarke points out. "You did everything right. You just ended up with me."

He lets out a breath, smiles. "That's right. I ended up with you."

It makes him feel better in the moment, but he's still a mess of nerves when they go to the station to meet her mother. Which, honestly, she expected and can't even blame him for. She's something of a mess herself.

But Abby is only staying for a week. They'll survive it.

And, if she's honest, Clarke is a little excited too. Just a little, guiltily so, because Bellamy is still so anxious, and she knows it could be awful. But for all their differences, Abby is still her mother, and Clarke still loves her. She hasn't minded, not seeing her, but--it would be nice if they _could_ see each other. She doesn't think her mother would ever want Clarke and Bellamy to come to Boston, to make her explain her dark, unknown son-in-law, but maybe her parents could come visit. For holidays, and--if they have children, she'd like them to know their grandparents.

"What's wrong?" Bellamy asks.

She bites her lip. "I want this to go well. I'm sorry."

"I want it to go well too," he says, gruff. But he gives her shoulders a quick squeeze. "I'll do my best."

"It's not you I'm worried about." She presses her lips against his shoulder. "I know you'll be fine."

They go to the smithy and talk to Raven until the train arrives, and Clarke laces her fingers in Bellamy when it does, leading him over to the platform. He squeezes her hand, warm, and she smiles.

"Sorry, I'm supposed to be making you feel better, aren't I?" she asks.

He snorts. "We can take turns."

Before she's even fully off the train, Abby looks completely out of place, and Clarke's heart lurches. It's strange, seeing Arksville through her mother's eyes, because she knows exactly what it's like. She remembers stumbling off the train, taking in the unfamiliar sight of the small frontier town, like nothing she had ever seen before. She'd been expecting it, had seen drawings, photographs in the paper of places like this, but it was still surreal to witness herself.

And then she'd spotted the nervous man with the curly black hair who was watching her, and she somehow knew what to do. The first sight of him had been all it had taken.

Even if he hadn't been Bellamy Blake, she might have married him anyway, just for that.

"Did I look like that?" she asks him, soft.

"You did," he confirms.

"And you still kept me."

"Well, you were younger and more beautiful, so--"

She smiles. "I'm sure that was it."

"I was worried you were going to turn around and get back in the train. But--then I got a good look at your eyes."

"My eyes?"

"You looked like you were hoping for a fight. If I'd told you I didn't think you'd last, I assumed you would have stayed just to prove me wrong."

"You're probably right." She squeezes his fingers once more and then lets go to wave to her mother. Abby actually startles, and Clarke realizes that she really hadn't recognized her. It's March, warm enough that she's been working outside for a few weeks, and the first redness from the sun has faded, leaving her skin tanned. She's wearing a plain cotton dress, with her hair braided back off her face and a bonnet on her head, standing next to a man her mother has never met. Of course Abby didn't recognize her right away. She doesn't look anything like she used to. She doesn't look like Clarke Griffin anymore; she looks like Clarke Blake.

She goes up the platform to hug her mother, and Abby clings back, so tight it almost hurts. Clarke buries her face against her mother's neck, taking in the sweet, familiar smell of her perfume, all the things she didn't know she missed.

She didn't want to lose her family, not forever. She just couldn't stay with them either.

"It's so good to see you," Abby says, and Clarke gives her one final squeeze before pulling back.

"You too." She reaches out and finds Bellamy's hand, tugging him to her. "This is my husband, Bellamy Blake. Bellamy, my mother."

"It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Mrs. Griffin," Bellamy says, taking off his hat and offering his hand.

"Yes, you as well, Mr. Blake." She doesn't sound nearly as convincing about it.

"Please, call me Bellamy," he says, and Abby nods, but doesn't return the sentiment.

Instead, she looks around, surveying the town again with a critical eye. "This is it?"

"This is the town. We'll have to take the buggy out to the ranch. It's a just a few miles."

"A few miles from the town," Abby repeats, and Clarke exhales.

"I would have thought Father reported back on all of that," she says. "Did you want to walk around town, or are you tired? We can go right back to the ranch."

"I was planning to stay in a hotel." She sounds lost. "I wasn't intending to impose on you."

"It's fine," Clarke assures her. "We were planning to have you stay with us." She gives Bellamy a smile, and he returns it. "Can you get her things?"

"Of course." He picks up her bags and goes ahead of them to load them into the buggy, giving Clarke and her mother a little privacy. Clarke has to smile.

"How was the train?" she asks.

"Exhausting," says Abby. She's still looking around. "Is this--" She pauses, trying to come up with the right words. Which is nice, in its own way. Clarke appreciates the effort, even if what she finally manages is, "You like it here?"

"It's small, but--the people are good. And I'm happy."

Abby considers her. "Your father said you were, but--well, I wasn't expecting this."

"No," Clarke agrees. "I wasn't expecting it either."

Bellamy helps Abby into the back of the buggy, and then helps Clarke for good measure, even though he never does it under normal circumstances. She squeezes his hand before she lets go, and he smiles.

It's odd, sitting in the back, with Bellamy in front of them, like the hired help. But with three people, there's no way to sit without someone being left alone, and Bellamy is the most polite and logical option.

Clarke points out her favorite places as they pass, tells her about Raven, about Octavia and Lincoln and their son, about her favorite riding routes. Bellamy occasionally adds his own commentary, usually something of historic or local interest, and Abby nods as if she's doing calculations in her head, trying to see what Clarke sees, to understand how all of these things add together to make a home.

If she really wanted to understand that, she'd just watch Bellamy, as far as Clarke is concerned. The wind is in his hair, making his curls even messier, the curve of his smile is soft and warm, and he's trying so hard. Clarke has always believed that her parents love each other, but she's never been sure _how_. Their marriage was their choice, but also their families' choice, a good match socially and financially. They knew each other for longer before marriage than Clarke and Bellamy did, but she doesn't know how much passion they've ever had, how much they _wanted_ each other.

It's not the most important thing. Clarke thinks a marriage with all passion and no practicality would be much worse than the reverse. But Clarke has both of those things with Bellamy. Clarke has a _partner_ , and she can't quite believe that her mother can't see that.

She belongs here. She belongs with him.

"It's the red house," Clarke tells her, feeling a familiar rush of pride at the sight of the ranch. "Those are our cows in the field, and horses. Bellamy built the house himself."

"Not alone," he says, neck going a little dark. "I got a lot of help."

"When did you move out here?" Abby asks, carefully polite.

"Nine years ago. I was sixteen."

"From where?"

"Philadelphia."

There's a pause, and then Abby says, delicate, "And before Philadelphia?"

"I was born there."

Clarke can see her thinking about pressing him, asking the question she really wants to, but she doesn't. "Do your parents still live there?"

"No, they've passed away." He clears his throat. "My father was a sailor. He was lost at sea when I was only a baby. My mother died when I was sixteen, and that's why I moved out here with my sister. No one was helping me live in the city, but I heard I could get land if I moved out here, and I could. And the life suits me."

"What made you decide to advertise for a wife?"

"My sister married and I needed help on the ranch. A marriage seemed like a convenient way to get it."

Clarke has to huff out a laugh, and he glances over his shoulder to grin at her, quick, before he pulls the buggy up in front of the house and hops out to offer Abby his hand.

"I'll show you to your room," Clarke says, getting down herself without assistance. "I'm sure you'd like to freshen up and rest a little after the trip. We can show you the ranch after."

"Thank you," says her mother. She glances at Bellamy, watching as he grabs her things. "And thank you, Bellamy."

Bellamy ducks his head, something between a nod and a shy smile, and follows them in to drop off Abby's things before he disappears again to deal with the horse.

The guest room is Octavia's old room, the one where Clarke herself slept for the first few months of marriage. It's probably the smallest room Abby will have slept in since childhood, and Clarke can see her mother's jaw working as she looks around, as if she's chewing words and swallowing them unsaid.

Finally, she asks, "How on earth did you end up here, Clarke?"

Her own smile comes easily. "The same way you did. I took the train."

*

It's an awkward visit, one long week of everyone feeling uncomfortable in their own skins. Bellamy is polite and friendly, but never _warm_ , and Clarke can't blame him. He relaxes when they're together, when he can forget about her mother's critical eye on him, but she knows it's hard. It's hard for her too, trying to figure out how to be welcoming without abandoning the person she is now, the person her mother doesn't want her to be.

Abby, for her part, seems to be cataloging everything, as if she's planning to rebuild the ranch outside of Boston to lure Clarke home. It's a little frustrating, but she at least gets friendlier to Bellamy after she catches the two of them napping in the barn, so Clarke assumes she realizes that he's a vital part of her happiness too. The most vital part.

By the time her mother is leaving, she feels as if they've found a peaceful place, if not a comfortable one, and Bellamy seems to agree, given that when he finds the east fence needs immediate repair before Abby leaves, he doesn't seem panicked at the thought of Clarke taking her to the train alone and unsupervised. Clarke wouldn't have put it past him to fret that her mother would try to steal her.

"I'm sorry I won't be able to see you off," he tells her, apparently sincerely. "But we can't have the cows wandering off."

Abby's smile seems sincere too. "No, of course not. I'm not offended. Will you be all right with the buggy alone, Clarke?"

Clarke rolls her eyes. "I take the buggy by myself all the time. It's fine."

"If you're sure. I could always stay another day."

Abby doesn't notice the face Bellamy makes, but Clarke does, and she has to hide her smile. "No, I should pick up some things in town anyway. It's no trouble."

Bellamy loads her luggage, and Clarke hesitates for only a second before she leans up to kiss him, just a quick peck, almost nothing. She often does it before she leaves, but it's the first time she's kissed him in front of her mother, and from the slight smile playing on his lips, she knows he knows it too.

"Good luck with the fence. Do you need anything?"

"I think we're almost out of flour."

"I know."

"That's all I've got." He offers Abby a smile. "It was good to meet you, Mrs. Griffin. You're welcome any time."

"Thank you, Bellamy. It was nice to meet you too."

They ride in silence for a spell, Abby relaxing slowly as the horse doesn't rebel against Clarke's rein. She can't help wondering what her mother thought she _did_ here; surely she wouldn't have survived, without learning something. But her mother certainly hadn't expected her to cook or clean or help with the animals, so why would she have expected this?

"I blamed myself for this," is what Abby says, at last. "I thought I was doing the right thing, showing you the consequences of your actions. I didn't expect you to--"

"It's not your fault. I would have left sooner or later, no matter what. I wasn't--I couldn't imagine being happy, in the city. In that life."

"We could have found something."

"I did find something," she says, gentle. "This is it."

"And you're happy."

"I am."

"He seems like a good man," she offers.

"He is. The best."

They lapse into silence again, and then her mother says, "You aren't ever coming back, are you?"

"Not very often. We can't just leave the ranch unattended. But you can come visit us." She wets her lips. "We're hoping to have some grandchildren for you, in the next few years."

"The next few years?"

Clarke shrugs. "It can take time. I don't know how long."

"You took much longer than I thought you would. We tried for years." She smiles a little. "You never do what I expect, Clarke. But--I'm glad you're happy."

"I am too. I'm glad you came to visit. You're welcome any time."

The smile turns wry. "Am I?"

"I assume you won't want to come very often," she says, and they both laugh.

She gives her mother a tight hug on the platform and waits until the train is out of sight before she leaves. She doesn't cry, but she does feel a little choked up, more emotional than she expected to be. She wouldn't want her mother around all the time, but she'd like her to come back.

She stops by the general store after, chats with Niylah a little and gets flour and sugar, since they're running low on both, and then goes home by way of the Pike farm so she can get pork and bacon. Charles and the children are in the front with the litter of puppies Clarke knew had been born, but didn't realize were already old enough to bound around the yard, and she just watches them for a moment, until Charles spots her and jogs over.

"How many do you have?" she asks, smiling.

"Of the puppies? Ten."

She whistles. "That seems like a lot."

"More than I was expecting, sure." He gives her a grin. "You want one?"

The question takes her by surprise. "Me?"

"Why not? Every house needs a dog, that's what I say. They won't be weaned until the end of the month, but I'd be happy to set one aside for you."

"I've never had a dog before."

"Bellamy has," he says. "He had one of mine, actually. She passed away a few weeks before you came down. So if you ask me, he's probably about ready for a new one. Now that the two of you are settled in."

Clarke glances back at the puppies; she has always _wanted_ a dog. "The end of the month?" she asks. "The twenty-ninth, maybe?"

"If you want. I didn't have a date in mind. Does it matter?"

She smiles a little. "I've been looking for an anniversary present. So--don't mention it to Bellamy?"

Charles flashes her a bright grin. "My lips are sealed. But you should come meet them. See if there's one in particular you like."

"So, you think I should spend the afternoon playing with your ten puppies?" she asks. "I don't know, that sounds awful."

"The wife's even making cookies," he says, and Clarke thinks, _home_.

*

"You know I could just close my eyes, right?" Bellamy asks. Clarke can hear him smiling. "My eyes _are_ closed. You don't need to have your hands over them too. Don't you trust me?"

"It's more dramatic this way."

"How dramatic does this need to be? I don't even know what could be this dramatic."

"That's why it's a surprise, Bellamy. Don't open your eyes yet," she adds. She was hoping the puppy was just going to rush over and jump on him, but apparently her exciting morning of coming to her new home tired her out, because she's fallen asleep in a puddle of sun on the floor.

"You're still covering them, it doesn't matter."

"I'm going to stop, so--eyes closed, hands out."

"This is a very weird surprise."

She coos softly to wake the puppy and then picks her up. She's small and wriggly, but fairly quiet as Clarke brings her over. She sniffs and Bellamy's outstretched fingers and then licks one, and his eyes fly open in surprise.

Clarke grins. "Happy anniversary."

He lets out a sharp laugh, and Clarke passes the dog to him. It's love at first sight, of course, and Clarke isn't sure she's ever seen anything better.

"You got me a puppy?"

"Charles Pike thought you were probably ready for a new dog."

"Or his dog just had a litter of ten and he was desperate to get rid of them," he teases.

"I'm sure he was just looking out for you."

Bellamy grins. "I'm sure he has too many dogs. If he was just looking out for me, he wouldn't have talked me into taking one of the puppies as a gift for _you_. Since our anniversary is coming up."

"He did?" she asks, laughing. "And I assume you told him not to tell me. I told him not to tell you."

"Like I said, he needed to get rid of those dogs. I was supposed to pick yours up this afternoon, once I was done with work." 

Clarke smiles, leaning into his side as he lets his puppy lick his jaw. "Which one?"

"The girl with the black left ear."

"Oh good. I liked her."

"I thought you might. Charles thought I should get that one, in particular. And told me I couldn't have this one." He gives the puppy a kiss on the head and puts her down to scamper around the floor again, pulling Clarke in for a much longer kiss. "Thanks for the puppy."

"You too. And thanks to Charles."

He rolls his eyes. "He's really helpful." But his expression goes soft and serious. "Honestly, though. I feel like I can never tell you enough. How much I--fuck, I'm so glad I found you. I didn't know it could be like this."

She bites her lip, trying not to grin too much. "You know, I thought you'd save this for the second wedding anniversary in a few months."

"Oh, no. That one's going to be so much worse. I'm going to be completely over the top. I'm already embarrassed. I might try to write you a poem."

"You write poems?"

"No. That's why it's going to be so bad." He kisses her again. "Trust me, this is just the beginning. It's going to get so much worse."

"And by _worse_ , you mean you're going to tell me you love me even more?"

"I guess it doesn't sound so bad, when you put it like that."

"No, not so bad." She pecks his jaw and then steps out of his arms. "So, can we go get my puppy now, or do I need to wait?"

"No, we can go now," he says, and she laces her fingers in his and tugs him out into the early afternoon sunlight. The ranch looks lovely, grass spring up green and fresh, flowers just starting to bloom on the trees, and she feels as if she knows every inch, every plant and animal and rock. It's _hers_ , all of it, and it's too much, for a second.

"What?" Bellamy asks, when she pauses.

"Nothing. Just--happy anniversary."

His grin is huge and bright and perfect. "You too. Come on, I want to give Charles a piece of my mind."

"Of course you do," she says, fond and almost too full, because she knows exactly what he meant. She didn't know it could be like this either. She didn't know it could come close. 

And he was right the rest of it, too. It's only been a year.

This is just the beginning.


End file.
